Keep it together, Leady.
Pencil Lead pulled his cart through the streets of downtown Manehatten, struggling to keep himself from falling apart.
Was he nervous? No. That would be like calling the sun “warm” or Princess Celestia’s flank “attractive”. The light grey Earth pony was downright terrified. Despite the warm summer weather, he was shivering as if he‘d been shaved in the middle of winter. His teeth were chattering like a pair of wind-up novelty teeth. His hooves felt like dead fish and his heart felt a wild animal beating against his rib cage. His stomach was the worst off; the little organ felt like some Colt Scout had used it for their knot-tying badge.
He hadn’t felt like this since his last psychology final.
It was a shame, really, him being so nervous on such a beautiful morning. The early morning sun had turned the windows of Manehattan’s skyscrapers to gold, as if the mayor had gone crazy and blown the annual budget on gold-paneled windows. The air had the fresh, crisp smell of morning, lightly scented with the inner-city perfume of food vendors. Even that wasn’t enough to take the edge off of his anxiety.
As he walked, Pencil’s overactive imagination crept out of its cage…
The author sits at the folding table, signing books like an automaton.
He’s doing well. He’s already sold about half of the books he brought with him, and almost all of them were signed. From what he can tell, ponies really seem to be interested in his stories.
As the book signing goes on, the author falls into a sort of rhythm. Greet a customer. Sign a book. Greet a customer. Sign a book. On and on and on.
He grows tired. His eyes begin to droop and his ears begin to sag. As he slumps over in a stupor, a little colt nudges him over and over, holding up a copy of his book. The author ignores him. Undaunted, the colt nudges him again, asking over and over again for an autograph.
Something inside the worn-out stallion. Before he can stop himself , the exhausted author snaps at the youngster. The colt’s eyes water and he runs back to his mother, crying his eyes out...
“Hey buddy!”
Pencil’s imagination retreated into the crevices of his mind. He looked up to see a blue unicorn standing over a pile of rolled-up posters.
“Watch where you’re going!“
“Sorry!” Pencil smiled sheepishly.
The unicorn muttered something about “bucking eggheads” and started pasting a Coronation Day parade poster on the wall.
I really gotta calm down. Pencil ran a hoof through his mud-brown mane. If he kept worrying about screwing up the book signing, he’d be so nervous that he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. If he wasn’t able to concentrate, he’d be more likely to screw up.
Pencil stopped his cart and scratched his chin. He remembered something his psychology teacher had taught him a long time ago.He closed his eyes for a second. “I can do this.” he muttered softly. “ Everything will go just fine. Everything will go exactly as planned.”
The Earth pony repeated this little mantra like a Lunarian monk reciting a prayer. His stomach loosened somewhat. His chattering teeth slowed.
That’s better.
Pencil rounded a corner and stopped in front of a small bookstore.
Well, this is the place. Pencil thought. Page Turner’s books. It wasn’t one of the biggest bookstores in Manehatten, just a small, brick storefront sandwiched between a Saddle Arabian rug shop and a Griffon restaurant. It was nowhere near the size of Book Barn or any of the other chain bookstores. But hey, it was a start.
Pencil backed the cart into a convenient parking space and balanced two stacks of hardback books on his back.
There we go. He trotted over to the store. He stopped to read a sign posted in the front window.
“Today only: meet the author of the new exciting thriller, “Escape from Tartarus”. 9:00 am to 2:00 pm.”
I can’t believe it. Pencil stared at the sign, as if he needed to convince himself that it was real. Until now, he‘d seen the ponies listed on those signs as gods and goddesses of the written word. Every one of their books was a universe unto itself. When they put pen to paper, worlds sprang to life. Ink and paper became flesh and blood. Ideas ballooned into universes.
Now he was one of them. And you know what, it felt pretty cool.
Once he was finally convinced that the sign was real, Pencil walked up to the store and rapped on the door. A pony wearing a manager’s vest- most likely the “Page Turner” mentioned in the sign- opened the top half of the door..
“Sorry sir.” He pointed to a small sign on the door. “We don’t open ‘til 8:30”
“Oh, I’m not a customer.” Pencil pointed to himself. “I’m Pencil Lead. I’m here for my book signing?”
Page Turner held up a hoof. “Hang on one second.” He pulled out a clipboard. “Pencil Lead...Pencil Lead… Ah, here you are!” Page Turner unlocked the bottom half of the door. “Come on in!”
“Thanks.” Pencil trotted into the store, making sure to keep the stacks of books stable. He let out a low whistle.The bookstore was like a temple to Princess Twilight. The walls were practically wallpapered with countless banners, posters, and pennants dedicated to the Princess. Every nook and cranny was infested with kitschy collectables, from collectable Princess Twilight mugs to little alicorn bobbleheads, their heads nodding in agreement to something only they could hear. To top it all off, a cardboard standee stood guard by a stack of princess’ autobiography.
“ Looks like you’re really getting into the ‘Coronation Day’ spirit.” Pencil pulled over an unused table. He’d read once that it was good for the booksigner to make small talk with the owner; it helped establish good relations between the two.
“ I know.” Page Turner nodded. ”Can you believe its been twenty years already?“
“Not really.” Pencil adjusted the table a little.
“I know. Seems like it was just yesterday I was at the theater, watching it on the newsreels.” Page sighed. “As if I didn’t feel old already.”
Pencil nodded. He knew the feeling.
“Well, I won’t bother you any more.” Page tipped his hat. “Good luck, Mr. Lead.”
Pencil smiled. “Thanks.”
With that, Page turned to the cardboard standee of the Princess and started dusting it with a bit of rag. Pencil plopped some books onto the folding table, then carefully straightened the stacks.
He twisted the top half of the stack by a few degrees.
No, too crooked
Another twist…
Nope..
Another counter-clockwise twist.
Still nope.
A slight clockwise twist.
Perfect!
Once he was satisfied, Pencil plopped his haunches in front of the table. He checked the clock: He had a few minutes left before the store opened. Time enough to perfect his autograph.
Pencil dug through his saddlebag and pulled out a dog-eared journal. He flipped through pages of discarded story ideas and random thoughts until he reached a blank page. Lets get started.
He set the pen to the paper.
“Pencil Lead” He frowned and crossed it out. Too sloppy. It made him look careless
He tried again. “Pencil Lead” No. Too plain. Made him look boring.
Again. “Pencil Lead.” He nodded. That was better. Plain enough to be readable, but different enough to stand out. Still, he felt it was missing something. Pencil tapped the pen against his lips. It needed something fresh. Something that said “I’m different.”
His perked up. I’ve got it! At the end of his signature, Pencil drew his cutie mark: three firework bursts. He smiled. Perfect!
Just as the Earth pony perfected his John Hoofcock, he heard the gentle click of the front door unlocking.
“We’re open now, Mr. Lead.” Page nodded to Pencil. “Hope you’re ready.”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Pencil hurriedly stuffed the journal back into his saddlebag. He folded his forearms in front of him and put on his most convincing-looking“calm face”.
Ok, Pencil, stay cool. Stay calm. The Earth pony took a deep breath. You can do this. You can do this...
The bell over the door announced the arrival of a customer. Pencil snapped to attention.
This is it. Pencil put on the most realistic smile he could muster.
“Hello! How are-”
Pencil’s jaw dropped like a lead weight. His train of thought jumped off the tracks.
“Hello.” The customer said with a friendly smile. She brushed aside strand of dark purple mane and walked over to the table. “Nice day, huh?”
Pencil just sat there, locked in a beauty-induced trance. This mare couldn’t possibly exist. Nopony this beautiful could exist outside of fantasy. Her coat was the color of pink lemonade, and brushed until it was silky smooth, while her mane was a lovely shade of purple. And her figure, well, her figure would’ve put Celestia’s to shame- not too lean, but not too plump either. Her cutie mark- a cartoony, smiling sun- blended perfectly with her coat. Topping it all off was a perfectly conical horn, like a pink icicle growing from her forehead.
As Pencil oggled the mare, his imagination slipped out of its cage and went to work.
The Maiden waits atop the steep tower, waiting for her knight to come and rescue her.
The Mare’s beauty cannot truly be described with words. Her voluminous mane is like a waterfall of silk flowing from her head. And her body, oh, by the Queen, her body resembles that of a pre-Celestian fertility goddess.
She has been chained in this foul place for ages, guarded by a hideous dragon. Many a brave knight has donned armor and drawn their sword against the dragon in hopes of rescuing her.
Their remains litter the castle grounds.
As the Princess waits for a savior, a brave pony approaches the obsidian citadel. He looks nothing like a knight; instead of shining plate armor and chain mail, he is clad only with a single scarf. His weapon is no mighty longsword but a simple dagger, little better than a kitchen knife. Yet there’s different about him. Something in his eyes that sets him apart from the countless others who have tried and failed.
He-
“Uh, hello?”
Pencil snapped out of his creative trance. The mare was waving a pink manicured hoof in front of his face. “Are you ok?”
“I’m, uh, fine.” Pencil banished his imagination back into its cage.
“You sure? You kinda spaced out there for a bit.”
“It’s ok. Happens sometimes.” adjusted his thick glasses and folded his forelegs in front of him. Now was not the time to fantasize. “Can I help you?”
“Yes.” The unicorn levitated a book from the stack. “This book; what’s it about?” She laughed softly. “ I know the title‘s kinda self-explanatory and all, but I‘d like to know more.”
Ok, Pencil. Just like you rehearsed. The pony gathered up his courage and put on his most convincing-looking “calm face“. “ Well, I don’t want to spoil anything for you, but I’ll give a brief synopsis.”
The Earth Pony checked the note card taped to his foreleg. “Imagine this: you wake up one day to find yourself in the deepest depths of Tartarus. Your memory is a total blank; all you remember is your name-Lucky Strike- and the fact that you are chronically unlucky.”
Pencil took a deep breath. “Everything in Tartarus wants you dead. There’s no water, and all the plant life is deadly poisonous. You have no weapons, no supplies. Nothing. Somehow, you need to crawl your way out of this hellhole and reach the surface.”
Pencil waited for a second. “So, uh, what do you think?”
“Hmm…” the unicorn said. She flipped through a few pages and put a forehoof to her chin.. Underneath the table, Pencil wrung his hooves like wet washcloths. In his mind he composed prayers to every god, goddess, saint, and spirit he could think of. It took every bit of willpower he had to keep from shivering.
“It sounds pretty interesting.” The mare turned the hardback over and nodded. She shrugged. “What the hay, I’ll take a copy.”
If Pencil had been a less restrained pony, he would have leapt onto the table and kissed the mare right on the lips. “Thank you!”
“Don’t mention it.” The mare rummaged through an embroidered saddlebag and placed a few shining bits on the table.” She picked up the book, then stopped and placed some more bits on the table. “While I’m at it, how about an autograph?”
Pencil’s heart almost burst through his rib cage like a minotaur through a china shop. “Sure!” He picked up his pencil. “To my first reader…” He stopped. “Uh, what’s your name, miss?
“Sunshine.” The mare smiled. “But I prefer ‘Sunny’.
“Alright.” Pencil gripped the pen in his mouth. “To my first reader and best friend, Sunny. “ Pencil added the little cutie mark “There we go!”
“Thanks!” Sunshine stuffed the book into her saddlebag. ”I’ll start reading the first chance I get!”
“You do that. Thank you again!”
“No problem.” With that, Sunshine trotted out of the bookstore, her tail swishing back and forward as she walked. Pencil couldn’t stop himself from staring. Her flanks were like two soft, squishy, magnets.
Once Sunny was out of sight, Pencil‘s brain started working again. He shook his head and Pencil straightened the slightly shorter stack of books.Well, so far so good. Barely five minutes in and already he had a sale! He wasn’t a superstitious pony, but Nightmare take him if that wasn’t a good omen!
“What do you think of that, mother?” Ever since high school, the old nag had tried to talk him out of becoming a writer. You’ll never make it as a writer she’d said. Go into the family business. You’ll be a lot happier. Trust me
Pencil gave a confident smirk. Showed what she knew.
The bell announced the arrival of another customer. Pencil looked up to see a rather bored-looking Pegasus trotting into the store.
“Hello! Lovely day, isn’t it?”
The Pegasus grunted and nodded, as if the entire world was one huge bore to her.
“Would you like to take a look at my newest book?” Pencil motioned to the stack of copies. “Imagine this: you’re-”
“Maybe later.” The Pegasus trotted off towards the Fiction section, muttering something in a flat, monotone voice.
“Ok.” Pencil folded his forelegs in front of him. No problem; not everypony was going to be interested in his stories. It was to be expected.
Another pony trotted in; a unicorn this time.
“Hello! Would you…?”
The unicorn walked right on by and picked up an autobiography. He might as well have been have been invisible.
Pencil tried to keep the smile on his face. It’s ok, Pencil. They’re just two ponies. Yeah, just two ponies. He couldn't impress everypony. That, and it was early. He was, what, barely five minutes into the signing. He still had plenty of time left to go. Yep, plenty of time
“Plenty of time” passed. The small bookstore began to attract more and more customers. Some of them bought books, while some just milled around for a bit, as if they were looking for something but didn’t know what. On occasion, one of them would glance at Pencil’s table for a minute, then walk away. None of them approached him.
All the while, Pencil tried desperately not to break down. he kept telling himself that eventually ponies would start talking to him. He just had to give it some time, that was all. Just give them some time.
It was like trying to bail out a sinking rowboat...with a teacup.
Before long, the antique clock on the wall struck two. Pencil slumped at the table, drained and crushed like an empty sarsaparilla can.
Page walked up to him, carrying a broom on his back. “Uh, excuse me Mr. Lead, but I think your time‘s up.”
Pencil grunted and packed up his stuff. He stuffed what few bits he’d made into his saddlebag and tossed the books back onto his back.
“Happy Coronation Day!”
Pencil just grunted and and tossed his belongings absent-mindedly into his cart. A waste of time. The whole thing had been a huge waste of-
Something boomed overhead. Pencil looked up to see the Manehattan weather team pushing fat grey rain clouds into position. Within minutes, the sky was covered by a sheet of grey cotton. Umbrellas sprouted up like mushrooms on a rotting log.
Horseapples! He’d forgotten: the weather team had had a huge storm scheduled for this afternoon!
Something cold and wet stung the tip of Pencil’s muzzle. Small dark spots broke out on the sidewalk, as if the pavement were breaking out in a rash. Within seconds, the storm picked up speed, as if the weather team had decided to forgo clouds and just started dumping buckets of water onto the city.
Pencil scrambled through his belongings. “C’mon, c’mon where is it!” He knew he’d packed a tarp here somewhere!
“Horseapples horse apples horse apples!” He’d forgotten to pack a tarp!
“Anypony have a tarp?!” Pencil pleaded to the crowd. “Please, a tarp?!”
Nopony in the crowd responded. The hapless writer watched helplessly as the rain poured onto his unsold books, swelling them into soggy bundles of mush the size of phonebooks. Ink bled from their pages like black tears.
Pencil slumped to his knees and pounded a hoof against the pavement. Something inside him snapped, and a stream of profanity erupted from his mouth like water from a fire hose. He used every obscenity he knew, from the relatively tame, to lines that would make a sailor blush. He even threw in a few Changeling death-curses he’d learned in college.
All the while, ponies just walked on, treating the enraged artist with the same detachment normally reserved for insects. Some of them stopped and stared for a bit, as if they had enough pity to feel sorry for him, but not enough to actually try and comfort him.
Finally, the last few cuss words dripped from Pencil’s mouth. The dejected artist picked himself up and ditched his cart in an alley. He started scanning the storefronts for anything resembling a bar.
He needed a drink. Now.
